The Anomaly
by Miriani
Summary: Anomaly -n.: something that deviates from what is normal, or expected. An anomaly in a ritual disincorporated Voldemort and left the Potter family as martyrs. Now a thousand years later, another anomaly is exposed, and Destiny refuses to be halted.
1. Prologue I

Location: Godric's Hollow

British Isles, Terra

Time: October 31, 1981

Spellwork in a hurry is always a dangerous matter. Insufficiently researched work more so, and under the impending threat of assault from the most sociopathic wizard in the last three decades… well one can imagine the desperation Lily Potter was feeling as she hurriedly scrawled the runes about her infant son's cradle.

"He's getting closer," her husband's voice warned from downstairs.

"I know! I need to concentrate!" Lily snapped as she continued to scribe the runes of the archaic spell that her haphazard research had led her to believe would have the best chance in protecting her child from the malignant sorcerer approaching the cottage.

As she finished inscribing the last rune, she wrapped her hand in gauze that was turning red rather quickly, and set the blooded knife aside, not quite paying attention to a few errant drops as she began to blurt out a rapid procession of syllables, mentally praying for the elaborate spell to work.

The room went completely silent except for Lily's rambling chant. No sound seemed to be able to penetrate, which is why she did not hear her husband's last words, nor the lethal retort of his killer. Nothing mattered except the clear yet desperate ranting of spell formulae as a sapphire glow suffused her infant child, then faded as Lily slumped to her knees.

The door slammed open, causing the exhausted witch to turn toward her killer, as her last sight was a flare of green.

Lily's body slumped to the ground as Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle walked into the room, sneering at the body before him before looking into the cradle in disgust. "What foolishness.. A child be my death? I don't think so."

Riddle chanted the words to the Killing Curse… and Godric's Hallow was leveled with a blast that did not quite reach that of the Hiroshima nuclear strike, but not for lack of trying. It was fortunate that the cottage the Potters concealed themselves within was far from any populated areas, so the only casualties were Tom Riddle, the Potters and Peter Pettigrew, their bodies vaporized from the force of the magics warring against one another.

* * *

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Winds howled as the back end of the supertyphoon tore through the woods. The hundred-plus kilometer-per-hour gales tore vegetation asunder and hurled debris about, but they were nothing in comparison to the fury that struck a matter of hours before. No rational human being would be in this area voluntarily, but Rescue Team 72 was not there voluntarily, and many who knew them would not consider them rational either.

The treaded, lowslung vehicle rumbled through the shredded forest, the crew within grumbling, only audible to one another due to the heavily muffled headsets covering their ears to both allow communication with one another and to protect their ears from the shrieking winds.

"We must be idiots, going out in this," a swarthy woman complained, digging through a supply cabinet that she had already checked on three times since they had been dispatched, ensuring that it had sufficient medical supplies.

"You said that three times, Astech Doria," a deep voice spoke from the corner, from a man who towered over any of the the rest of RT72.

"And I will say it again. Who in their right minds would go out in a Category 5? What makes you think there will be any survivors?," Doria stated, glaring at the massive man.

"They're children," the lanky driver chipped in. "We've got to give it a shot. Especially considering what they are. You know the warriors'll go nuts if they lose a whole sibko to a natural disaster."

"I know. And I know they are children. But it doesn't mean this could just be a waste of time at best and a suicide mission at worst," Doria protested.

"Quiet, Astech Doria," the large man said, calmly but firmly.

"Alright, Technician Merin," Doria grumbled, taking a seat and not quite muttering her opinion of the team's recent addition.

"Can it, guys, I'm getting some transmissions. " the driver called, before flipping a toggle on the dashboard. "This is Rescue Team 72 to any survivors, please respond. I repeat, this is Rescue Team Seven-Two, please respond, over."

His hand slid over a keyboard, tapping in commands to lock onto the closest transmission to their current channel, only to wince as a sound came over the channel. Two sounds, the driver realized after listening to it, the howl of the winds, and barely audible beneath it was the cry of a child.

Doria hopped into the seat next to the driver. "You hear what I'm hearing, Jake?"

The driver nodded. "Yeah," he said with a glare at the controls. "324, about four kilometers away I think. Probably running on battery power, I'm not hearing any reactor noise."

Doria nodded as she buckled in. "Step on it, Jake."

Jake put the hammer down as the treads started to chew their way through the mud and debris, turning to the northwest.

Ten minutes later, the team pulled around a cluster of rocks, seeing the wreckage of a vehicle spread across the side of said stone. Merin shrugged a bit in his flak jacket and slid down a visor. "We ready?" he said as he shrugged on a backpack full of medical supplies.

Doria nodded as she undid the security straps and slipped out of the chair, moving to the hatch of the vehicle. "When you are."

The massive man opened the door, the shrieking of the wind intensifying now that the several inches of armor plating no longer protected them from the winds. "It's a mess," Doria yelled as she moved toward the wreckage, straining against the wind.

Her companion was easily twice her height and far far stronger, but had no less of a struggle against the gales as they moved toward the hatch, barely hearing the child inside. Merin's hands reached out for the hatch controls and strained to open the malformed door, prying it open after a significant struggle.

"In his Name," Doria murmured under her breath. The inner walls of the vehicle were a nightmare, covered in blood, vomit, and broken bodies and machinery. And yet somehow, in the midst of the carnage, was an infant, wailing in pain and fear.

"Astech, get the child while I see if anything's salvageable!" Merin yelled over the winds. The woman nodded as she picked up the child and removed a headset from Merin's pack, putting it on the child before struggling her way back to their vehicle.

"Anyone else?" Jake called out as Doria hopped into the vehicle.

"No, it's a nightmare in there. I don't understand how this one survived." Doria replied.

A few minutes later, Merin stepped in and sealed the hatch. "Little, if anything was salvageable. It looks like the discs were in the wrong place. A few of them might be recoverable, but I doubt it."

Doria looked at the child. She was never one for children, but she could not help but pity him. He did not seem too injured, except for a jagged slash across the forehead. "Merin, bandage and antiseptic," she called.

The huge man frowned at the order, but did not argue. Now was not the time for a discussion.

The woman cleaned up the wound, cocking her head slightly. "Huh. Wonder what his name is," she murmured, gently brushing a finger over the jagged wound.

"Bolt," Jake offered up with a slight grin.

"Why not," Doria replied. "Better than 'him' or 'the kid'."

It was two hours later when the vehicle pulled into the Emergency Facility garage. Merin stepped out first, and froze, going into a rigid stance as Doria almost crashed into him, carrying the child. She was about to protest, then froze as she saw the reason for Merin's immobility.

Two men stood before them, and Doria felt confusion at their presence. ChiefTech Gowain's presence, while odd, was at least understandable. But what was a Star Colonel doing here?

"Technician Merin," Gowain prompted, "were there any survivors?"

"Only one, Chief Technician," the man spoke. "The evacuation hovercraft had been thrown into a rockslide. Most of the data backups were damaged, and all were dead except for one child."

The Star Colonel frowned at this. "An entire sibko lost except for one child?"

"One cannot assign blame in this matter," Gowain said, attempting to mollify the warrior. "The typhoon turned inland faster than was expected, and no craft could fly into the area in sufficient time."

"I am not blaming you, Technician Gowain. It is just a pity that so many promising cadets were lost," the Star Colonel said, showing no outward emotion, though Doria thought she could see a hint of mourning in the man's eyes.

Not so hard as we're led to believe, she thought as she looked at the warrior. Though who would not be disturbed at the woeful waste of lives.

"You stated that the records were damaged. Do you know the identity of the survivor?" Gowain asked.

"Neg, Chief Technician," Merin replied. "Almost all of the data discs were broken, and the only ones that could be salvaged were corrupted. From what we were able to match, the child appears to be of the House of Vickers, though most of the genome data is missing."

"That is something, at least," the warrior commented, then tapped a small device in his ear. "This is Star Colonel Jobe," He called out, frowning. "Aff, Galaxy Commander. Neg. I will be report in twenty minutes." He turned toward Gowain. "Carry on, Chief Technician."

As the warrior left, the team looked toward Gowain. "Take the child-"

"Bolt," Doria blurted out before shrugging. "It just seemed appropriate."

Gowain frowned a bit, then nodded. "Very well, Take Cadet Bolt to MedBay and keep me appraised of his situation."

Doria shrugged as she looked toward her crew. "Well that could have been worse," she commented. "Lucky kid," she said as she walked into the facility proper.


	2. Prologue II

Location: Wolf Clan Sibko Training Facility 03

Wolf Clan Enclave, Strana Mechty

Time: September 19, 3041

Scientist Jackson stared at the files in front of him, an expression of confusion etched upon his face. Slapping at the keyboard as if it offended him, he attempted, and failed, to deny the evidence he saw in front of him.

Fortunately, the only thing he saw on the videos was one person, Cadet Bolt. Were there other witnesses, the scientist was not sure what he could do about the situation. What he was seeing was quite likely impossible, yet it was there on the screen before him.

Bolt ran down a corridor, pulling a sharp turn around a corner as he attempted to find concealment. A pair of Elemental cadets were rather offended at Bolt's reaction to his superior results on some tests, and some ill chosen words on his part. Considering that each of those cadets was twice as large as Bolt, he realized far too late that he probably should have kept his mouth shut. Of course, it did not help matters that he had run-ins with the duo before, and grudges tend to flare far too often.

Bolt slipped down another corner and took a few deep breaths, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation, when the two cadets turned the corner. "Did you see a cadet with a scar on his head?" One of the Elementals growled at Bolt.

He stared back at the Elemental in shock, shaking his head. "No.. nobody came down this way."

The second Elemental swore under his breath and wandered off. The first nodded. "I am going to strangle that bastard," he muttered before wandering off.

Bolt blinked. How in the hell didn't he recognize me? he thought to himself, stumbling into a washroom and freezing as he looked into a mirror, not recognizing the face he saw.

Jackson didn't hear the conversation, but saw as Bolt's face melted like hot wax before reforming into a visage he didn't recognize though could make comparisons to his fellow cadets. Frowning, he moved the surveillance file to a portable drive before copying over the file several times to ensure it could not be recovered.

It was the first file he erased, but not the last, as some other files showing the cadet performing things that did not seem possible were transferred to his private drive before being erased. Transiting from one location to another to avoid missing a class. Having objects float toward him without his awareness. All of it impossible, yet there it was.

The scientist hefted the small drive, staring at it, before opening up a series of data files, a germ of an idea starting to sprout.

Jackson was a cadet himself, of the same house as Bolt two decades ago. Unfortunately for him, politics and bad luck ruined his career before it ever started, shunting him to the Scientist caste. His particular lineage had started a bad slide decades ago, and some of the uglier rumors passed about hinted that the house council was considering quietly reaving the bloodline. Yet this cadet had potential, and more importantly, something no other bloodline had ever shown, as far as he was aware. He was not sure of the uses of the talents Bolt had expressed, yet he could not and would not let them fade into obscurity.

"Star Captain Jobe Vickers, please," he said into a communicator. What he was considering could be seen as treason by some, but how could something that furthers the potential of the Warrior caste truly be treason?

Jobe's hands strained the metal cup enclosed in them as he stared at Jackson. It had taken the scientist a half an hour to convince him that what he was shown was not merely special effects from an entertainment program for laborer-caste drudges. The following fifteen minutes strained the Mechwarrior's sensibilities, however. "What you are suggesting is ludicrous and dangerous," he said quietly, yet with a hint of strain. "It is only because we were sibkin that I am even entertaining the notion beyond mere hypotheticals."

"Jobe, think about it for a second. Our house has been in decline for quite some time now. You often suspected you only earned your bloodname because nobody else would bother with it. You have heard the rumors of reaving. We need to do something to correct this, and Cadet Bolt may be our best option. Imagine the possibility. He shows great skill in the simulators, and imagine how valuable his lineage would be if this power could be tapped consciously," Jackson replied.

"But would it merely cause further deterioration were we to promote an unqualified cadet and it came out that we tampered with the situation? Spending time on the Prinz Eugen would be the least of our worries," Jobe snapped. A slight shudder passed through him at the idea of being condemned to the warship that had been converted into a floating Alcatraz due to its part in a mutiny during the Exodus that lead toward their society's founding.

Jackson stared at the footage once more. "It is worth it. I see much potential for House Vickers, for the Wolves, and for the Clans as a whole, all within this cadet."

Jobe frowned deeply, silent for a long moment, before replying, "Very well. If he tests out, and only if, I will declare him my Blood Heir."

Jackson sat back in his seat. "Very well. That is as much as I can hope for."

* * *

Location: Wolf Clan Sibko Training Facility 03

Wolf Clan Enclave, Strana Mechty

Time: May 12, 3046

Bolt rested back against Elayne, resting his head against her bare chest as she wrapped her arms about his own. The female Elemental cadet was only two months younger than him, but seemed to have a wisdom that belied her size and youth. Her brown hair was closely cropped aside from a long braid that rested over Bolt's shoulder.

"Are you still worried about that exercise tomorrow?" Elayne's contralto voice brought Bolt's attention upward.

"Some. we have done live-fire exercises before, but something feels wrong about this," Bolt replied.

Elayne nodded quietly. "I have learned to pay attention to your instincts," the Elemental cadet admitted, her slate-grey eyes troubled. "You have a gift for awareness, I think."

"Do not underestimate yourself, Elayne," Bolt countered. "You have your own gifts as well. I want you to be careful tomorrow." He sat up and walked toward the shower. "We do not need to lose any more of our sibko."

She stood, picking up their clothing and setting it aside before joining him in the shower. "Lester was a fool. You did warn him that he was pushing his 'Mech too far. It is only chance that he survived when his ammunition cooked off."

"Fortunately, the safeguards worked properly," she continued as he handed the soap to her, "Otherwise he would be dead, rather than in a vegetative state."

"Personally," Bolt replied, "I would prefer death to being a mindless drain on the Clan's resources."

She shook her head as she undid her queue to wash it. "The Father would have been proud," she said somewhat sardonically, "but I would prefer you intact and covering my back, thank you."

He shrugged as he turned to wash her back. "There is that," Bolt replied with a wry grin.

The two cadets finished assisting the other with some haste, before Bolt returned to his quarters, Elayne's last words giving him a chill. "Be careful, Bolt. Tomorrow will be a rough day."

* * *

Location: Wolf Clan Training Facility, Prometheus Field

Wolf Clan Enclave, Strana Mechty

Time: May 13, 3046

Bolt swore as a railgun round whizzed by his cockpit, forcing him to back his Stormcrow into a narrow gully. He had tried to escape the position twice, but each time, the Mad Dog on the opposing force winged another slug his way. If the opposing Mechwarrior had went with one of the standardized configurations, particularly the one that this configuration half resembled, he could merely wait out the target, forcing him to waste his ammunition and thus depriving him of any weapons. But unlike the Gamma configuration he expected when the first ferrous ball splintered armor over the Stormcrow's right torso, the other arm did not use the remaining weight for another gauss rifle, but rather, a particle cannon and advanced missile system, both systems giving the Mad Dog far more longevity than Bolt expected.

"Dart lead, what is the enemy's position?" He snarled into the microphone in his helmet.

Elayne, leading Dart Point, the team of Elementals assigned to his OmniMech, replied, "He is closing in at 30kph. The mud is giving him fits it seems. I do not know why he is not jumping," commenting on the other surprise his opponent had nailed him with: modular jets that allowed the Mad Dog to make 150 meter leaps. Bolt had already lost one of his three medium lasers to a backshot that caught the cadet off guard.

"Probably because he knows I will shoot him out of the air, and he cannot return fire accurately."

"Indeed," Elayne replied. "Let me see if I can get Dart Point behind him."

"Aff, Dart Lead. Be careful."

The three remaining armored suits leapt out of the brush at the top of the canyon Bolt had retreated into, stinging the back of the Mad Dog with missiles. The Omnimech flipped its arms upwards, trying to aim them back at the armored soldiers, only to be interrupted as Bolt dashed his Stormcrow forward, peppering the heavier machine with his four remaining lasers. The pair of heavier lasers tore gashes in the left arm and torso, which were taken advantage of by the smaller lasers. The torso held, but the arm bearing the particle cannon was shorn off, falling to the muddy earth with a crash, sinking a bit into the mire.

Bolt's attack was not done with impunity, however, as the missile pack on the left torso of the Mad Dog belched out smoke and a quartet of short ranged rounds that struck home, one of them punching through the already weakened armor in his Stormcrow's right torso, the explosion sending cooling fluid and scrap out the hole the missile created. The only fortunate thing was that the damaged heatsink was somewhat superfluous, as his Omnimech's loadout bore an extensive cooling system, that not even the infernal heat generated by his fully intact laser array could tax. With him shy a laser, even this damage did not worry him, yet.

The Mad Dog's mechwarrior had two choices, Bolt thought. He can either waste ammunition on Dart Point, or he can try to finish me off. He actually hoped for the latter, for Elementals could not weather firepower like that.

Evidently, the Mad Dog decided Bolt to be the greater risk at this point, as the gauss rifle swung back toward him, firing as soon as the targeting pip swung over Bolt's Stormcrow.

Time seemed to freeze as Bolt stared at the oncoming 250 kilogram projectile, the flash of sparks escaping the barrel as the slug loomed larger within his view. Battlemechs may be multi-ton juggernauts of destruction, and Omnimechs the pinnacle of weapons technology, but no Battlemech could withstand the amount of damage a rail gun could produce to their vulnerable cockpits.

Bolt's last thought was one of denial, as the melon-shaped ferrous orb smashed into the cockpit glass…

… and starred the reinforced plastics, flattening like a fruit slammed into a brick wall.

Bolt had tensed up during the impact, and his hands squeezed the controls tightly. Including the firing studs, sending hundreds of megawatts of power surging through each of the lasers in his 'Mech, all of them tearing into the Mad Dog's center of mass, ripping the fusion reactor's housing apart, causing the 'Mech's failsafe systems to shut down the star-like reaction that powered the OmniMech, sending it to the ground with a crash.

Bolt did not move, almost hyperventilating, as he stared at the shattered yet still unbreached cockpit glass. It wasn't until hard pounding was heard, finally collapsing the glass as a familiar sight loomed into view. "Bolt, are you alright?" Elayne's strident, almost terrified voice said as she lifted the faceplate of her armor.

Bolt nodded slowly, still trembling like a leaf in a gale.

* * *

Jackson asked the Technician about the damage report. "Somehow, as far as we are able to determine, a faulty gauss slug had found its way into Jerome's Mad Dog. But how did someone manage to get aluminum into the foundry's production line, and moreover, how did Jerome's gun fire an aluminum slug? The only theory we have is that some idiot laborer got the orders for the armory plant and the munitions plant mixed up and some rounds were composed of aluminum with only enough steel to be magnetoreactive. With the foamed composure of the faulty slug, it had just enough mass and ferrous component to be launched, but not enough to cause any significant damage."

Jackson had his own theories, but nodded, "It is a good thing. We would have lost a good mechwarrior today were it not for that laborer's mistake."

Occam's Razor would suggest that Technician Murphy was correct. Occam would have used his damn razor to slit his wrists if he had ever run into someone of Bolt's talents.


	3. Prologue III

July 23, 3055

Location: Tranquil, Kerensky Cluster

Star Captain Bolt of the House of Vickers stepped toward the dais, scarred brow creased as he reached the side of the Vickers Loremaster, staring at his opponent calmly. He had shed blood, sweat and tears to reach this point. Though Operation: REVIVAL, the battle the Clans had fought against those who inhabited humanity's original homes, had ended a mere handful of months before he qualified as a Warrior of his people, he still was able to prove himself in many other battles. Though several of these battles were against those of the Inner Sphere, the majority of his battles were against his Clan's political rivals, particularly the Jade Falcons.

The political debates among the Clans had become particularly fierce after the invasion, which had been stalled due to a deal made in desperation by ComStar, the technoreligious cult that held humanity's homeworld, and an iron grip upon the Inner Sphere's communications. Due to ComStar's overwhelming win against the Clans, the invasion of the Inner Sphere could not continue for another twelve years, yet the Jade Falcons, among others, struggled to try to find some way to abrogate the treaty. The Crusaders, the political faction of which the Falcons were among the forefront, believed that the Clans' destiny was to return to Earth and conquer it for their own. The Wolves, however, were considered the leaders of the Warden philosophy, that believed that their purpose was to protect Humanity against any outside influence.

Bolt had proven himself during these battles, haven shown both exceptional skill and unbelievable fortune. And six months ago, when Jobe Vickers was slain in a battle with the Falcons, Bolt was considered the favorite to inherit his bloodname, and in no way was this because of Jobe declaring Bolt his heir a month after his original Trial of Position.

Bolt handed his token, a coin with the Clan's insignia upon one side and his name upon the other. His opponent, a warrior named Jolene, visibly strained to stay standing. She was truly a strong warrior, but the last battle had not been kind, having suffered both an ammunition explosion that nearly destroyed her 'Mech's engine and near lethal feedback arcing through her. Bolt had offered to give her time to recover, but neither Jolene nor the Loremaster would allow her the sign of weakness.

Jolene's refusal of Bolt's offer was most likely for one reason, in that her thirty-seventh birthday was the night before. For most of humanity, this was rather insignificant. However, among the Warriors of the Clans, this was fast approaching a fate worse than death. For among the Warrior Caste, the dream of any warrior was to either die gloriously in the service of their clan (Or to be less kind in some cases, in their own service, paying only a handful of lip service to such lofty goals) or to earn a Bloodname, which would allow a warrior eternal glory by participation within the Clans' eugenics programs, being able to prove their genes were worthy and battleproven to be passed onto future generations of Trueborn warriors. For someone like Jolene, who had seen opportunities for glory slip away, when one three generations younger than her stood before her, lent her desperation to avoid the title solhama, those who were considered at best to be back line garrison troops or support units, and at worst, only good for filling, emptying and teaching sibkos multiple generations more advanced than their own. To see the numbers on a clock count down far too long past her glory days as a fresh Mechwarrior pushed her to take risks a sensible person would not even countenance.

Bolt tried, but was unable, to keep a hint of pity out of his expression when he looked at her. This only enraged the older warrior further, but her expression was merely an attempt at a mask of stoic resolve, subverted by a palsied tremor induced from the nervous damage caused from her previous battle.

As the Loremaster began the Ritual, Bolt looked at Jolene, and became more and more concerned as the Loremaster invoked the Trial of Bloodright. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated to a point where only a very thin ring of brown could be noticed. It wasn't until he saw the narrow stream of blood from her right nostril that he realized things were worse than he imagined.

The Loremaster held his hand up for her coin, and Bolt froze as he noticed her take one step, raised a shaking hand, then collapsed as a puppet with strings that had been shorn away with one swift swing of a knife. In a gesture unusual to a Clan Warrior, Bolt practically vaulted over the platform to land at her side, laying her upon her back and checking for her pulse. There had been cases of opponents in such a trial leaving their opponent to fall, even to die to ensure their victory, but Bolt could no more do such a thing than he could shift an entire jumpship out of orbit with a pinky finger.

As medics rushed to her side, Bolt began to perform CPR, before someone took over for him. The point was moot, however, as after five minutes, the medic that took Bolt's place in performing CPR slid a hand over her face, closing her eyes. Bolt felt a bit of sorrow for the loss of a Warrior, mixed with a spark of exultation for earning his Bloodname, yet even that spark was feeble at best. He had earned his immortality, but it felt hollow, having only proven that he could outlast an aging woman who had her fate sealed before the two even encountered one another.

* * *

"I swear, the Universe itself has it in for me," Bolt muttered as he dropped himself onto his bunk, as Elayne looked at him amusedly.

"I could have, and believe I have, told you that repeatedly," the Elemental remarked. "But what clues do you bring forth now?"

Bolt gave her a halfhearted glare but replied, "For some reason, my Trials seemed far too easy."

"Well to be cynical, I can give you two reasons: The first is that, despite it being a Bloodname, you know this particular Vickers line has been steeped in misfortune for the last half century. In all likelihood, only the desperate or those with no other choice would take it. I do not count you as either, only because you were chosen for this bloodline," Elayne explained.

"Oh thank you. That makes me feel better about it," Bolt muttered wryly.

"The other," Elayne continued, ignoring the remark, "is up to your skill, sheer chance, and in Jolene's case, pure surat-headed foolishness. Her death was not on your hands, but rather her own for not listening to any competent medtech. One does not go through feedback damage like that and come away without a second thought. A few thousand volts through your neurohelmet is not something even an Elemental can shrug off. Barring what the chaplains would call a miracle, Jolene was dead the moment she declined medical assistance."

"I understand, Elayne, but it does not mean I have to like it. I can also understand Jolene's view as well. She was looking at being dumped into a second line garrison at the end of a mediocre career. I do not think I could put up with living for nigh forever staring at achievements long past, or even worse, teaching sibbrats generations superior to you, without at least the solace that you contributed more than just experience," Bolt replied.

Elayne nodded. "Upsetting thought," She agreed before pulling him into her lap, hugging him softly. "At least you have that solace now, though I doubt it will be necessary. You are an incredibly skilled warrior, Bolt, and I truly believe you will bring redemption to your bloodline."

Bolt relaxed against her. "I hope so. Though I think, with the rumblings from the Crusader camp, that redemption may come sooner than later."

* * *

June 10, 3057

Strana Mechty, Kerensky Cluster

"So let me get this straight," a coldly furious Elayne Tutuola snarled. "Those inbred gaggle of genetic defectives are claiming that their ilKhan is guilty of not only treason, but the plainly ludicrous idea that he is responsible for the destruction of genetic legacies simply because they're not doing the good little Crusader thing and bashing their heads against the Inner Sphere?"

Bolt sighed as he pried off his boots. "That, Elayne, is exactly what they are claiming. And to make things that much more delightful," he said sardonically, "is that for some unfathomable reason, Ulric is letting them send the charges up to the Grand Council as a whole. He has to have some reason for it, but escalating this from a venue where he has a marginal advantage to the Grand Council, where he has stepped on a lot of toes. He has to know that he does not have enough support to face the other Clans in this matter."

Elayne slammed her fist into the wall, swearing in several languages, causing Bolt to raise an eyebrow in amusement. "He has to be up to something. He usually is. Of course, I have heard rumors that he has spent quite a bit of time in closed door meetings with Khans Phelan and Natasha, so he has to have something in mind."

"The only good that could possibly come from this is if he was trying to do something to cut off the Jade Falcons, but I cannot see how choking down such ugly charges could possibly do anything but further the Crusaders' agenda," Bolt muttered as his brow creased, the lightning shaped scar on his brow crinkling. "They have been wanting to abrogate the Tukayyid Treaty before the ink even dried, and letting these ridiculous charges go to the Grand Council could give those bastard buzzards exactly the kind of ammunition they need to do so."

"The only reasons I can see for the ilKhan to do something so bizarre is either senility, which I highly doubt, or pressure from some vector," Elayne protested.

Bolt frowned as he rubbed at his face thoughtfully. "Maybe that is it. You know there are a lot of young warriors who want to see action, to prove themselves. Ulric could be trying to vent off steam by aiming them in another direction."

"I am not seeing… wait. That is clever. Could get very ugly but still clever. You think he is trying to goad Vandervahn Chistu into trying to stick his neck out by backing the charges, then hang him with them?" Elayne conjectured, thinking of the Jade Falcons' senior khan and one of the more rabid crusader leaders, which is saying something considering how violently the Falcons backed the Crusader philosophy.

"That is about the only thing I could see working, though a little political maneuvering does not seem to be Ulric's usual MO. There has to be something else we are missing," Bolt mused, then looked up at a chime. "Come in," he offered, then stood rapidly at attention, Elayne doing the same as their visitor entered.

"Bolt Vickers, Elayne Tutuola, we need to discuss something," Khan Phelan Ward said without preamble.

"Please have a seat, my Khan," Bolt offered, trying to figure out what brought their junior leader to them.

/ \ / \

"So let me get this straight, my Khan," Bolt said, a little rattled. "The ilKhan wants to use these charges to gut the Jade Falcons and ensure the other Crusaders are too disoriented to breach the treaty? Bloody does not even begin to sum up what this could be."

Elayne wasn't even able to respond as she stared with both shock and a hint of admiration in Ulric's plan as Phelan nodded. "And to try to ensure that our own Crusader elements get blunted if not wiped out completely."

"Wow. That will get Chistu's shorts in a twist," Elayne remarked.

"It is about the only way we can clean house and stop the Falcons from being able to break the treaty until it does not matter," Phelan explained. "We send the Crusader-heavy parts of the Touman to butt heads with the Falcons while the remainder of the Clan evacuates to the Inner Sphere. Our Crusader elements will be seduced by the glory they will see in fighting the Clan's enemies, while the Clan as a whole survives. We just need enough Warden command staff among those forces to keep the Crusaders and the Jade Falcons from seeing what is happening until it is too late."

"And that is why you are asking us to volunteer to be among the vanguard command staff," Bolt concluded. "You know we are both young enough to seem to be susceptible to Crusader influence, good enough to stand off any command challenges, and savvy enough to realize the implications of what is going on."

The Khan nodded. "Precisely." He had watched the two bloodnamed officers for some time, knowing they had something special that served the Clans well and was truly grateful that both were safely ensconced in the Wolves' genetic heritage. Despite Bolt's somewhat unorthodox trial of Bloodright, both warriors had acquitted themselves with distinction, and though their deaths at the Falcons hands was a possibility and would be a loss for the Clans, he was also aware of Bolt's ambivalence to death, and though he felt guilt at asking him to take a course which might cost him his life, he also knew that Bolt would not let fear of mortality stop him. He could not quite comprehend Bolt's complete fearlessness, and wondered if it was something that that his own Inner Sphere heritage would not let him grasp. Then again, he had not seen such ambivalence in many other warriors either. It was something he could only truly attach to Bolt.

This wasn't to say he was suicidal or foolishly reckless. He did not throw lives away, but he also showed no hesitance in doing things that even the most battle-hardened warrior would balk at. The only thing Phelan could call it was a selfless bravery, unhindered by considerations such as ego. Positively unclanlike, Phelan thought to himself sardonically, considering many warriors he had encountered, particularly Crusaders, tended to be raving egomaniacs who seemed as if they were the Clan itself personified. Between that and his utter loathing for politics and politicians in particular, Bolt struck the Khan as an epitome of what a Clan warrior should be, and the antithesis of what a modern Clan warrior was. An amusing contradiction, he mused.

Bolt and Elayne took a long look at one another, and once again, Phelan was reminded of rumors that the two had some bond that was also a sign of an oddity between the two. Most Clan warriors would wonder if they shared an unclanlike emotional attachment, while most Inner Sphere romantics would think they were so much in love with each other, they could read each other's thoughts. The truth was probably somewhere in the middle, Phelan mused as the warriors remained silent for a moment, before Bolt said, "I am in." Elayne nodded her concurrence a second later. "Count me in too."

The Khan nodded. "Thank you, Bolt, Elayne. Just one thing: Do not be martyrs. If it comes down to you dying or the Falcons, make it the buzzards any day of the week and twice on sundays." The two looked confused at the colloquialism, but nodded, saluting Phelan as he left their quarters.

* * *

August 28, 3057

Wotan System, Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

CWDS Deft Claw, on Intercept Course of JFDS Violent Cry/JFJS Emerald Perch

"Damnit," Star Captain Iria swore softly under her breath. The modified Union dropship was straining its engines and was still unable to make any headway against the fleeing Jade Falcon craft. "Chieftech Jon, can we squeeze any more power into the engines?"

"Neg, Star Captain. we are already pushing the reactor to one hundred and twelve percent as it is," the chief engineer replied. "As it is, we only have enough power for life support, Long Range Missiles and half of the Gauss Rifle compliment."

"Stravag!" the diminutive warrior hissed. "Very well. Keep me updated. Star Captain Elayne Tutuola," she said as she changed communication channels to the sickbay. "What is Star Captain Bolt's status?"

/\/\

The Elemental looked toward a terminal. "Stable but he will not be piloting a 'Mech for a week. Concussion, broken leg."

The hypercephalic commander of the Deft Claw nodded. "Understood. I am pleased that he survived. He pulled us out of a bad situation," she commented gratefully.

Elayne nodded. The battle on Wotan had gotten very ugly. Galaxy Commander Dianne Ward had ordered the Deft Claw to pull off planet when Gamma Cluster had been overrun, and Bolt's salvaged Summoner was the last 'Mech to survive long enough to make it back to the modified Union, and even then, it was only by the skin of his teeth.

Both arms had been sheared off, the reactor was already running hot, and a barrage of autocannon fire had torn most of the cockpit armor away, sending a fragment of one monitor into his helmet, almost crushing it. A particle beam had torn into the hip of the Omnimech as he hobbled his last few steps into the 'Mech bay. The damage caused the Summoner to crash to the deck, the impact smashing the control stick into his leg, snapping both his right tibia and fibula. Fortunately the pain and painkillers injected into his hip from the emergency stabilizer drove him to unconsciousness so he did not have to deal with the situation, and by the time he woke up, Astechs had already pried him from the cockpit and escorted him to the sick bay.

Bolt woke up with a groan, causing Iria to grin ever so slightly. "Ahh, good. It is a relief to see you survived, Star Colonel."

The mechwarrior looked over. "It would be more of a relief were it not for the multitude of ugly green pigeons pounding on my skull with mallets," Bolt replied. "Status report?"

"We are on an intercept course with a Jade Falcon Confederate containing one of the Star Colonels we flushed out, but have not been able to gain any speed on them," the captain explained.

Bolt frowned softly. "Do not press the chase too far. I doubt they have any backup, but I think we have lost enough crew today."

Iria's brow crinkled a bit in irritation. "Star Colonel, the dropship is damaged, it would only take a few clean hits to-"

Bolt shook his head ever so slightly - the pain surged too much to do much more. "I understand, Star Captain. A kill would mean glory. But losing the ship because we pushed things beyond our limits would only be a waste. You are young enough, Star Captain. With this war as it is, there will be glory enough to spare."

Iria sagged ever so slightly. Bolt was correct, but it wasn't easy to hear it from him. After all, he was the one who earned the rank of Star Captain before he even placed on his first Daggerstar, the elongated insignia that shone crimson to declare his position as a Mechwarrior. He was the one who had already earned his coveted Bloodname. And all before Iria earned her position as bridge crew of the Deft Claw. Even in the 'new-is-better' mindset, twenty seven was hardly too old to be considered for a Bloodname.

"Star Captain," a male voice spoke, "we are picking up what seems to be the dropship's destination. It seems to be a civilian craft, probably an Invader, but the IFF is reading as a Warrior Caste ship."

Iria looked to her side. "That sounds about right. The Falcons lost a few of their warships so they likely commandeered some civilian craft. I doubt they will be able to dock and jump before we intercept, but let us not waste good salvage if we can help it. Star Captain, Star Colonel, I will report back in an hour."

Bolt felt a shiver dance down his spine. The premonition he felt was only getting worse, but with his injuries, he was in no position to pull rank, and Elayne probably could not get away with it. Bolt had the advantage of superior rank, but any inquiry would most likely go against Elayne, as an experienced naval officer would have an advantage against an Elemental on her own ship, just as Iria would not find much purchase giving orders to Elayne in ground combat.

* * *

JFDS Violent Cry, on rendezvous course with JFJS Emerald Perch

The Broadsword-class Violent Cry should have easily ran circles around the slower Union-C, a fact that the Cry's captain was muttering about under his breath. The Violent Cry had taken several hits, including a cluster of missiles that tore one of the ship's thrust jets apart, slowing the Jade Falcon craft down to parity with the Wolf ship. Only the superlative skill of their engineer, a bondsman from the Snow Ravens, had kept the wounded craft's speed up enough to give the ship time to dock, or so they hoped.

"Perch, this is Star Captain Miguel. You will begin jump sequence as soon as we are docked or the last thing I do before those dogs catch us is tear your misbegotten craft apart," the captain snarled.

The civilian captain was not too impressed with the threat, probably because he knew the Wolves would likely do the same, but did not show it as he replied, "we are prepared for jump, but to initiate a jump without recalibrating for your dropship's mass would be a grave error." He knew his career and quite possibly his life was at risk for contradicting a Warrior, but he realized he was in the midst of a Morton's Fork: Don't jump and either the Broadsword or the Union would tear his ship apart. Jump and risk very bad things happening to his ship. Sure, Warriors were stupidly psychotic enough to try to risk things like split second jumping, but the biggest risk that civilian transports usually took was spending a few extra hours calculating a better Lagrange point to jump to.

"Yes, Star Captain," the jumpship captain said before the Star Captain could dress him down any further. "Jump calculations are complete, jump sequence will begin the moment you dock." And God have mercy on our souls, he thought, because the Wolves sure won't.

Forty-five minutes later, the Violent Cry pulled trajectory hard, angling itself to dock with the Invader-class jumpship. Nobody noticed that the impact of the two ships together, though not enough to cause structural breaches, did damage the docking collar slightly, but with the Wolf craft only seconds from maximum range of its battery of railguns and missiles, this could be understood.

What was less understood however, was just how costly such a mistake was.

* * *

CWDS Deft Claw

"…I repeat, heave to and surrender. We will have firing solution in thirty seconds," Iria stated as the spherical craft drove on inexorably toward the Falcon ships. The only deviation in course was to give a better angle of attack on the Broadsword in order to avoid damaging the Invader.

"There is still no response, Star Captain," the pilot, Luke, replied.

"Foolish surats," Iria said under her breath as she shifted a bit in her restraints. "Very well. Target engines if possible. Taking her alive would be ideal, but don not take any chances."

"Aye, captain," Luke replied, sending the commands to the nose gunners.

Before the barrage could begin, however, the Falcon craft turned and almost crashed into the dropship. "What is he doing?" Star Captain Iria said in disbelief.

Her question was answered before she could say another word, as a massive flash of white filled her view.

* * *

Location: Unknown

Takayoshi Fuchida and Thomas Kearny developed the theories that led toward the technology that allowed humanity to reach distant stars over a millennium ago. But even with the first jump to Tau Ceti in 2108, and nine hundred more years of research, jumpspace was a very enigmatic thing to say the least.

Even more so were the various ways that a jump could go wrong. When the Violent Cry impacted with the docking collar, the KF boom was wrecked. Said device is the linkage between the two ships that allows the jumpship to enshroud the dropship within the Kearny-Fuchida effect.

Between the damage to the boom and the inaccurate calibration to the drive, the Jade Falcons never had a chance.

What was left of the two ships would not be found as the wreckage came out of its jump in a decaying orbit of an unexplored planet.

* * *

Location: Unknown

The remains of the Deft Claw was a bit more fortunate, but only by a bit. The ship was partially intact, enough that the emergency equipment to counter hull breaches activated, spraying harjel sealant over breaches where the main drive system used to be. Of the fifteen man crew and eighteen survivors of Bolt's unit and maintenance crew, only thirteen survived the transit.

Smoke filled the cockpit of the ship as Star Captain Iria swore and coughed. "All hands to escape craft!" she rasped out.

Elayne lifted Bolt into her arms as she rushed toward one of the transport crafts this ship had been modified to carry. Intended to insert a team of Elementals and some support equipment, the trans-atmospheric ship was about the only way to escaped the doomed dropship that had not already launched or been scrapped by the transit.

"Hurry up!" the diminutive pilot yelled as Elayne placed Bolt into one of the landing couches and strapped him in before strapping herself in. The craft's door sealed and the craft launched. "This is not good…" he muttered, then flinched a bit as he saw one of the last few escape crafts ignite on its way in. "Brace yourself!"

/\/\

A young red-haired girl sat upon a rock in the midst of a field, watching the stars. She was glad to be out of her house, as another row had begun between her parents and some of her older brothers. As usual, it was triggered by a prank the twins had conceived that her youngest brother whinged about.

"Hey, Ginny," her second oldest brother called, moving to sit down on the rock next to her.

"Hey, Charlie," Ginny replied. "When do you have to head back out to Romania?"

"I'll be leaving when the rest of the boys head for the Express," Charlie replied.

Ginny leaned against her brother, nodding. "Going to miss you all," she admits.

"I know, Ginny," he said, running a hand over her hair.

A flicker of something drew Ginny's eyes to the sky, seeing streaks of light. "Ooh, neat."

Charlie's eyes flicked upward to watch the meteor shower, enjoying his time with his sister as he watched the natural phenomenon.


	4. I: Batchall Chapter 1

I - Batchall

May 28, 1991 Location: Wizengamot, England, Terra

Shouts and insults rang through the Wizengamot's general meeting chamber, as Albus Dumbledore tried to tune out the voice of Lucius Malfoy. Not an easy task, Albus realized, as Lucius had lungpower to rival his former fortunes. Despite the decline of said fortunes, and the fortunes or lives of many of those who sided with Voldemort in the last decade, Lucius managed to survive and hold on to some power in the Wizengamot. Albus suspected it cost him massive outlays of galleons, but he could never track down who took his dirty gold.

'' and so we must ensure that our heritage is not lost, no matter what future we have before us,'' the one who was definitely not a Death Eater, no matter what everyone else thought, concluded.

''You speak of heritage,'' a sardonic voice spoke out as one figure stepped forward. ''I also know much of our heritage. And what you speak of with admiration, I speak of with concern.''

Albus barely suppressed a grin as Lucius' biggest problem stood out. The conflict between the two stemmed all the way back to a point where both had spent time in the company of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While Lucius gave no proof but convinced with gold, the other merely stared down the chief auror and demanded veritaserum, clearing his name beyond any doubt. Needless to say, the latter had far more credit among the fellow members of the Wizengamot than the former.

''People speak of the good old days, but which good old days do they talk about? Days when magic was a force of nature that brought awe and wonder, or days when people hid behind masks to torture their fellow beings, just because they could and their victims couldn't?'' Sirius Black spoke out. ''It has only been a decade since the conflict ended between noble, rational people, and self-important bastards who thought that centuries of inbreeding had them convinced that they were better than people whose family trees were better spread.''

Several people howled in protest at Sirius's brash words, but Albus struggled to restrain a snicker. Black may have had pure blood, but he was definitely one to call a spade a spade. The vast majority of British wizardry may have known little to nothing of genetics, but when one's own family tree began to resemble a rope more than a tree, something was definitely amiss.

Sirius began to filibuster vigilantly, speaking of the improvements made since what was colloquially called the Martyrdom, and how very far British Wizards and Witches need to go to have a society the Potters and other victims of the Dark Lord would be proud of. Of course, he was not at all averse to inserting semi-subtle digs at Malfoy and his cronies, and several times, Albus had to pop a caramel into his mouth in order to stop himself from bursting out laughing at a particularly clever shot.

Malfoy was not blind to the fusillade of references to his bigotry and his past associations, and continued to turn deeper shades of red with every passing moment, clashing with his platinum blond hair. Finally with a particularly amusing, if somewhat offensive innuendo, Malfoy almost reached for his wand, only stopped by Albus adjourning the session.  
- - -

"Having fun out there, Sirius?'' Albus asked him as he poured two glasses of whiskey, offering one to the younger man after the two had adjourned to Albus's office at the Ministry.

"Immensely. And to think, I could have missed out at all of that,'' He murmured with a grin, taking the glass before sitting back in a surprisingly comfortable chair.

"Well, to be fair, you did call it... how did you put it? An antiquated collection of old fossils, determined on keeping the Wizards and Witches of Great Britain-'' Albus started, only to be interrupted by Sirius.

"Head down in a fathom of flobberworm shite for the next thousand years while Muggledom and the rest of the world snickers up their sleeves at us,'' Sirius smirked. ''Always did have a way with words.''

Albus chuckled softly before taking a sip of his whiskey. ''Indeed. A talent which I'm sure Lucius is sorely appreciating at this moment.''

Sirius grinned and said, ''I'm sure he is. That Death Eater's mostly harmless since only the most na ve or devoted to their sorry cause believes a single word he says. The problem, of course, is that there are far too many people who belong to either category. It's actually rather surprising, considering bribing his way from a lifetime in Azkaban bankrupted him.''

"It is a very good thing, then, that you were able to cut Narcissa's access to your family's resources,'' Albus replied.

"It's a good thing I was rational enough to demand veritaserum,'' Sirius said, his amused expression falling as his memories went back to the day of the Martyrdom. ''I screwed up badly.''

"Sirius, many were at fault that day. Even me. Especially me,'' Albus admitted.

"The real question,'' Sirius said as he took a drink, ''is did any of it do a damn bit of good? The only ones I could ever acknowledge as family dead, and yes, it's not business as usual for the bigots, but sometimes it just feels like all we did was uproot the bush in order to kill a few weeds. Was the life of James, Lily and little Harry worth it?''

Albus sat back and sipped his drink, unable to answer.

* * *

May 28, 1991

Location: Insertion Craft _Mist-cloaked Howl_, Troposphere, Terra

Pilot Yorin was sweating buckets as he tried his best to prepare for reentry, and to ignore the flashes of flame in the distance, each an escape pod or craft that was incinerated by the intense friction caused by their own failed insertions into the planet's atmosphere. He knew the hull was holding up as he adjusted the craft's pitch, but he could not help the false sensation of flames across his skin as the primitive portions of his brain told him that he and the two other survivors on his ship were in incredible danger.

"Pilot, is there any way I can assist?'' the Elemental behind him asked.

"Not unless you have aerospace maneuvering training that I am unaware of, Star Captain,'' Yorin said in a terse voice. ''Just strap in and make sure the Star Colonel is too, because this does not look like it will be a good landing.'' Founder, was that ever an understatement, a part of his mind chirped. The fusion engine plant powering the craft was running well, but the actual propulsion systems were another matter. Some damage had been taken when the _Deft Claw_ disintegrated and he was already receiving emergency lights on two of the thrusters. If they could survive the reentry, he believed they should be able to take it in, even glide it most of the way. If.

The hypercephalic pilot let his hands fly over the controls, trying to deal with automated damage control systems, engine warning indicators and a half a gross of other situations that threatened doom for the Howl. We are not going to make it, he thought to himself as the craft began its final descent toward a smaller landmass off of one of the major continents.

Elayne strapped herself in next to Bolt, shaking her head. ''Perhaps I should have suited up. Not that it would matter much I suppose.''

Yorin's thoughts moved a mile a second as he tried to conceive of any chance of their survival. With what they left, it narrowed his options down to one. He quickly adjusted their course, then slammed the throttle as far as it would go.

Elayne blinked as she felt the g-forces. ''What are you doing?'' She yelled against the rumble of the engines.

"Trying to get below planetary defenses!'' He yelled back. ''If we can get down below detection, maybe we can avoid getting blasted out of the sky if they have any guns whatsoever!'' He held the control stick tightly. ''And hope we can pull out of the dive before we crash,'' he said under his breath, drowned out by the engines.

The _Mist-cloaked Howl_ blazed a trail through the sky, diving to terra firma.

* * *

His autocannon howled as he squeezed the trigger. A spray of depleted uranium shells crushed the hardened steel-composite analogues to the Summoner's right shin bones, snapping the lower quarter of the limb and the hoof-like foot off. Bolt paid for the damage, however, with a spike in the already sweltering heat in his cockpit. With both reactor damage and the pressure of the fight, the gauge was already flirting with the redline.

The Summoner crashed onto its side, snapping the scoured right arm off as well as the particle beam weapon the made up most of it. It did not move, leading Bolt to believe the pilot was stunned or even knocked unconscious by the fall. He turned away from it, but did not put his back to it, in case the mechwarrior recovered from his current state. He checked his scanners and shook his head softly.

The battle for Tamar was positively ruthless. This was no normal Trial but a war to the knife. Both forces, despite their mostly common ideology, loathed one another with an almost unholy passion. The Wolves and the Jade Falcons detested one another almost since the founding of the Clans, when the Founder adopted the former as his own Clan.

He flicked a quick look at the ammunition counter for the massive weapon that had crippled his previous target, seeing that it was at less than fifteen percent. Not what he wanted to see, though it would help his heat burden. He saw a shift from the Summoner as it tried to stand, and spun, bringing his Stormcrow's foot down hard upon the remaining arm and snapping it off, causing the Summoner to fall once more and divesting it of the last of its weaponry. He contemplated bringing the foot down on the cockpit of the 'Mech, but at this point it was no longer a threat, and he would not disgrace himself by crushing a mechwarrior like a bug. He pulled back as his control terminal pealed out a warning of incoming hostile IFF signatures.

Bolt pulled back behind a cliff wall, waiting for both the enemies to come to him and thus within range of his autocannon, and also for the heat gauge to climb downward. The cockpit was still like having a front row seat to hell, but he could feel the cooling vest working overtime to keep him from going into hyperthermic shock. He pulled back from the cliff, thrusting the right arm forward, with the sextet of lasers spaced hexagonally around a currently clenched fist.

Four of the six lasers fired as the first 'Mech came around the corner of the cliff wall, flaying armor from the chest but doing little to slow it down. He did not recognize the unit, but his own 'Mech's warbook proclaimed it a Night Gyr, refreshing his memory about an intelligence briefing mentioning the relatively new design. The heat surged through the cockpit once more, before starting to fade.

As the Night Gyr came around the corner, Bolt crushed the trigger of the autocannon, screaming in rage but being drowned out by the roar of the gun. He didn't pay attention to the ammunition gauge as the slugs chewed through the Jade Falcon 'Mech's hide, only to see two silver flashes as the dual railguns the enemy was armed with smashed into his cockpit like a godling's hammer...

* * *

... and Bolt awoke with a gasp as he felt himself being jerked forward in his harness, not quite realizing that he was not about to be crushed in the cockpit of a Stormcrow, but strapped to a restraint couch.

"Star Colonel, are you alright?'' he heard a voice say from his left, and nodded his head ever so slightly, the surging pain from both concussion and violent shaking punishing him for even that slight movement.

The pilot stared a boulder that starred the cockpit glass but somehow didn't manage to punch all the way through. A little closer, he thought to himself, and I would be a lot smaller than I am now. ''Star Colonel, Star Captain, are you alright?'' he asked in a shaky voice, looking toward the two as the Elemental began to undo Bolt's restraints, lifting him carefully before setting him upon a bench built into one of the walls.

"Yes, we are fine, Pilot Yorin. Thank you,'' Elayne replied as she examined her commander. ''It was a close one,'' she told him as she sat on the ground next to him. ''I am presuming the planet we have landed on is safe for humans, considering all the lights we saw on reentry and the fact that if it was not, we would probably be dead at this point,'' She said, gesturing to the smashed cockpit glass.

Bolt barely nodded, not wanting to add to the already surging pain rattling around in his skull. ''Damage report?''

Yorin popped his shaven head from around his command chair. ''In short? We are not going very far. Reactor is surprisingly intact, but we are down to less than 10 percent thrust capacity. With all the rest of the damage, we have maybe a two or three kilometer maximum range at most. Enough to relocate, but that is it.''

Bolt sighed softly. ''Well at least that is something,'' he muttered as he lifted his hands to his face, rubbing softly. ''What is the surrounding area like?''

"Very thick forest, some mountains off in the distance... a castle?'' Yorin rubbed at his eyes. ''Ok, someone on this planet is very eccentric. There is what appears to be a medieval-style castle here.''

"Perhaps this planet is not safe,'' Elayne joked, ''if the air is that thick with hallucenogens.''

Bolt frowned softly. ''Well evidently this planet is inhabited then. We must have landed somewhere in the Inner Sphere. Nothing like that would ever be built back home, and from what has been seen of the Periphery, nobody could afford the materials or labor to build something so impractical.''

"Well that is both good and very bad. We can at least try to get the craft repaired, maybe even get a jump off planet, if we are not summarily arrested or worse,'' Elayne said.

"Yes, I very much doubt we would be all that welcome here,'' Bolt said quietly, rubbing at his head.

"We have got movement outside,'' Yorin snapped as he looked forward.

Bolt looked to Elayne. ''Suit up, in case we have trouble,'' he ordered as he tried to sit up. ''Yorin, help her out.

Elayne nodded and moved toward her Elemental Armor, climbing into it as the pilot slipped out of his seat and assisted the Star Captain into the suit.

Bolt sat up but leaned back against the wall, jaw and eyes clenched as he tried to push back the pain. ''Star Colonel, stay there, we can handle it,'' Yorin said as he finished sealing Elayne's armor. ''System test?''

Elayne nodded, unseen, as she ran through a quick diagnostic, the claw of her left arm opening and closing as she stepped forward. The igniter for the left-arm mounted flamer flickered on with a blue flame, before shutting off. ''System diagnostics complete. Good to go. Yorin, grab a weapon, just in case.''

The diminutive man nodded as he moved to open the armory cabinet, pulling out a gauss sub-machine gun, slapping a combination ammunition magazine and power clip into the stock, pulling a lever to slide the first ferrous slug into the breech while pre-charging the capacitors. ''Ready, Star Captain.''

Elayne strode toward the door, moving to open it with claw while relighting the flamer pilot light. A rush of fresh air wafted over the two, though Elayne didn't feel it through the armor plating. Yorin rushed to the side of the door, kneeling as he swept his firearm over the area, covering the Elemental as she strode out, also sweeping her arm-mounted flamethrower from side to side. ''Yorin, close the door behind us. If there is someone out here, we do not want them to get to the Star Colonel.''

The pilot nodded as he stepped out, sliding the door shut before bringing his gun back to the ready. ''Any signals?''

"I am detecting some movement, though it is hard to say with all this plantlife,'' Elayne answered. ''Switching to thermal imaging,'' She said, flicking her eyes to an icon on her faceplate, washing over her display with a dull flicker. ''I am not seeing any heat images... wait. Two o'clock,'' She said, turning and thrusting both arms forward, flicking her eyes over the display once more to disarm the safeties on both the flamer and the submachine gun that hung under her left wrist.

"By Kerensky's name...'' Yorin gasped as he brought the gun to his shoulder, readying to fire as the two saw a swarm of what looked like giant spiders heading in their direction.

"That might explain the castle,'' Elayne said sardonically as she started to sweep both nickel-ferrous slugs and fire across the oncoming horde of arachnids, Yorin doing the same as he stared at the creatures.

"What in the Founder's name have we landed on?'' Yorin screeched as he squeezed desperately at the trigger. He blasted a spider that got within a few feet from him, but another moved to drive its fangs into his upper thigh. A yelp escaped him as Elayne blasted at it with the submachine gun under her left arm, before raking the claw across it, knocking it away from the pilot.

"Fall back! Get us out of here!'' the Elemental roared as she swept the flamer across a cluster of the massive arachnids, backing them away from the pilot as he staggered back to the door. Worry tinged her expression, thankfully unseen beneath the faceplate of her armor as she continued to back up, covering the pilot as he got the hatch open.

Yorin staggered into the craft, as Elayne used up the last of her flamer fuel before slamming the hatch closed, snapping another bug's leg off as she sealed it.

"Try to get us closer to that castle,'' Elayne said as she lifted her visor.

Yorin nodded weakly as he crashed into his command chair, closing his eyes tightly for a moment as he tried to fight off the encroaching numbness. He started up the thrusters and struggled to get the maneuvering jets oriented, angling them toward the distant fortress, the craft moving as unsteadily as its pilot.

Bolt almost crashed to the ground before Elayne scooped him up with her flamer's arm, the bifurcated claw at the end of the other arm tearing into a bench, gripping the ruin tightly, trying to keep them from flailing around.

Yorin's eyes blurred before him as he manipulated the commands fumblingly, as warning lights lit up one after another. Realizing what was happening, he struggled to pull the nose up, hoping that it would be just... enough...

The _Mist-cloaked Howl_ experienced its final landing, plowing a massive furrow through a copse of trees.

* * *

May 28, 1991

Location: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland, Terra

"Finish one year's homework and now have to get ready for the next,'' Minerva McGonagall sighed as she took a sip of some tea.

"It could always be worse,'' Filius Flitwick remarked. ''At least we are not open the year around.''

Minerva shuddered at the idea. ''I don't think anyone would be able to stay sane, were that the case.''

"Probably not,'' Filius said as he sank into a comfortable chair, almost disappearing within it.

The deputy headmistress of Hogwarts looked through the Rolls, doing a quick count of the names listed to be students in the coming year. A slight spike in names, but it was understandable, she thought. A baby boom after the end of the war, when the Potters became martyrs in order to destroy He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Hyphenated. Everyone was high on the exuberance of the war's end and and some decided to celebrate rather emphatically.

"Classes will be somewhat larger than usual,'' she murmured as she flipped through the pages, pausing and rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses for a second, unable to believe her eyes as a name seemed to melt into the page. She had seen the phenomenon before, but only when a child had been born, thus was only a name to look for years later, not one that was to be coming to school in a matter of months.

She blinked as Filius cocked his head in confusion. ''Something wrong, Minerva?''

Minerva looked at him. ''If it were possible for a book to be drunk, I would think this one is positively plastered. We have a new entry, but it's complete gibberish. 'Star Colonel Bolt Vickers'? Location listed as '_Mist-cloaked Howl_'? What is this nonse-'' She halted, and both clutched their hands to their ears as they heard a sound that seemed to be a blend of screaming and tearing, as if it the sky itself was being rent asunder and protesting the pain.

The sound ended with a crash that both swore would deafen them. ''Maeve, Morrigan and Merlin, what was that?'' Filius said, barely audible over the ringing in their ears.

Minerva winced as she stood, swaying unsteadily as she tried to clear the ringing from her own head. ''I don't know. But I think we should let Albus know something is happening here.''

Both of them rushed out to the courtyard, with Rolanda Hooch, the school's flight instructor, hot on their heels. The thing that drew their attention was a smoky contrail leaning straight for the Forbidden Forest. ''Rolanda, can you call Albus, tell him we need him here. And see if Poppy is here, just in case?'' Minerva asked.

Hooch nodded and sprinted back into the castle, as Minerva and Filius walked in the direction of the smoke trail.

* * *

Elayne both struggled to, and was shoved into, wakefulness. Her iron will was boosted by the familiar pain in her right thigh and the heat flooding through her veins. The .75 metric ton Elemental battlesuit, a descendant of the all-environment construction exoskeletons developed almost two centuries ago, was designed to keep its wearer battle ready until it was completely destroyed, the wearer was beyond any medical help, or the battle was decided. Every combat vehicle or suit the Clans use were developed with a medical analysis system, designed to inject chemicals into the pilot or wearer when their vitals became erratic or endangered. The chemical cocktail was engineered to keep the pilot awake and combat ready.

She gritted her teeth as she looked around, her gaze a little unsteady, which she contributed to concussion and the drugs pumping through her system. Bolt was still strapped to the safety harness, unconscious. Yorin, on the other hand, was nowhere near as fortunate, as the front of the cockpit was crushed in, flattening what was left of him into the command couch. A haze of smoke filled the room, but the fire suppression systems did their work, stopping the fire before it became a danger. She hesitated, before moving to reopen the hatch. She winced as the light blazed into her eyes, before the faceplate tinted in reaction.

The wreckage of the craft ended up within visible distance of a stone hut, and the castle they had seen from the distance. Now that she was right next to the castle, the viewfinder zoomed in, leaving her even more amazed at the eccentricity of building such an archaic structure. She very much doubted it would hold up to even a light lance of Periphery scrap 'Mechs, though she presumed that, were it built two thousand years ago, it would hold up to contemporary siege weaponry, such as catapults or ballistae.

The motion detector in her suit pinged out a warning of two incoming figures to her right. She spun and adjusted her stance, lifting the muzzle of her flamethrower, before pausing. The action was something hardwired into her from a decade and a half of training and warfare, but she restrained the instinct to incinerate the incoming figures once she got her eyes on target. The strangeness of the matter helped, she thought wryly to herself through the chemically-boosted battle haze, as she looked at an elderly woman in an odd black outfit, and a positively tiny man in an outlandishly colored garb.

Both skidded to a halt, and placed themselves in danger as both began to pull something out as she prepared to squeeze the trigger, only to become even more confused as she saw both draw out wooden sticks. Did she end up with a bad batch of combat drugs, or did someone slip a hallucinogen into her medpack? What lunatic would even consider pulling a twig on someone in a suit of battlearmor? It seemed like the trio were in the middle of a drug-induced standoff, when she heard a thump behind her and spun to see Bolt fall on his knees outside the hatch, the rifle he was using as a crutch tumbling to the ground. She rushed back to him to protect him, placing her back to him, then paused as she saw both figures become absolutely pale.

The woman gasped. ''It's impossible,'' she whispered. ''James? James Potter?''

"Um, wha?'' Elayne muttered under her breath before speaking out. ''Stand down. Any threatening action will be met with appropriate force, but I have not come for violence.''

* * *

The diminutive figure swallowed hard as he looked at the golem and ghost before him. It was the only real explanation when the human bore the face of someone who had been dead for a decade, and the larger seemed to be hewn of solid metal, but moved with surprising agility for something of its size.

And then the somewhat distorted voice made Filius realize that it was not a construct before him, but a being clad in armor. It was impossible to tell accents with the muffling of the faceplate of the bizarre looking armor, if indeed, armor it was, but the voice sound feminine. His brain went off on a wild tangent, not entirely coherent, but the idea of Valkyries popped into his head.

Ancient legends spoke of those goddesses who came to earth during great battles to choose those who had fought valiantly. The rational part of him wanted to dismiss them as just legends. But seeing a dead man, one who had fought against their society's greatest nightmare, hinted to him that it was not just legend. That before him stood a goddess clad in steel, one who had brought back a fallen warrior.

It was only when he looked once again at the mortal, that he began to realize that this was not James Potter, could not be James Potter, as a pair of hard, cold, emerald eyes gazed back at him. This only confused him more, as those eyes were as recognizable as the face was, having seen that exact gaze from a truly infuriated Lily Evans, particularly when the former had done something monumentally stupid, as he was occasionally wont to do when he was younger.

His baffled brain continued along that tangent, then balked. It could be Lily and James's son, but that was even less likely than an ancient warrior-goddess bringing James Potter back from Valhalla. After all, the child would barely even be old enough to come to Hogwart's, not be accompanying an armored warrior in some giant muggle vessel.

The diminutive figure dropped his wand as he continued to stare, his mind locked in circles of over-aged children, armor-clad psychopomps and the dead returning to life. Struggling toward rationality, he noticed the human's injuries, then looked to Minerva. ''Let's bring them in.''

Minerva wanted to protest, but he saw the expression of confusion and worry on the other professor's face, then nodded. ''Please... bring your companion with you,'' she said hesitantly to the armored warrior.

Elayne would have looked confused if anyone could see her face through the tinted faceplate of her armor, but moved to lift Bolt into her arms, switching to the clipped rapidfire speech of battlecode.

As the two warriors followed the professors, Filius carried his own conversation with Minerva in a quiet voice. ''You see what I am seeing?''

"It's an impossibility, Filius. His eyes and expression is all wrong, and it can't be their son, he is too old,'' Minerva protested.

"Old or not, unless our minds are playing tricks on us, it could be the Potters' son,'' Filius said.

Minerva looked back at the two, then goggled as she saw the unarmored figure actually shrink, looking more childlike.

"This is not good,'' the armored figure commented. ''Move. Where is your medical facility?''

"This way,'' Minerva said, shocked as she saw the man becoming a boy, leading onward.

"This has happened before. A reaction to severe injuries,'' the Elemental tried to explain. ''Fortunately it only happened once,'' and far away from others' eyes, Elayne thought to herself, not knowing what her fellow Wolves would have thought of the reaction to his injuries on Wotan, where the two had been stranded behind enemy lines for a week. ''We theorized that it was an attempt to conserve energy by reducing his body mass.''

"A metamorphmagus,'' Filius yelped as the thought popped into his head.

"A what?'' Elayne asked, the muffling of her armor unable to hide her confusion.

"A wizard who has the ability to transform some or all of their body to look like someone else,'' the short professor replied. ''I've never seen that reaction, but there aren't many who have that particular talent.'' The only one who came to mind was Nymphadora Tonks, an up-and-coming seventh-year student and a somewhat close relative of the Potters through her mother's family, the Blacks. Another possible link, he thought to himself.

"In here,'' Minerva said as her own mind batted around the idea. ''Poppy?''

"I'm here, Minerva, is something wro- gracious!'' Madam Pomfrey gasped as she looked at the immense metal figure before her, carrying a child with a face that looked damnably familiar.

"We have an injury that we need to take care of,'' Filius said, drawing Poppy out of her shock.

The nurse nodded as she gestured toward a bed, as Elayne placed her commander upon it. The armored figure stepped back as to not get in the way. She was still tensed up, knowing that anything could happen at this point, and she had just placed her commanding officer and closest friend in the hands of what seemed like a primative people, but they may be the only help within the vicinity that could help him.

She froze as she saw the nurse pull a stick out, and after muttering some gibberish, caused a string of words to float in the air. What is going on? She wondered to herself. Evidently she had found people who shared the same talents for the unnatural as Bolt did, but was this a good thing? She couldn't even begin to guess at this point.

Madam Pomfrey was just as stunned as she looked at the results of her diagnostic spell. ''Maeve's blood,'' she said as she looked at the Star Colonel.

"Poppy?'' Minerva asked, surprised at the nurse's reaction.

"Who did this to him?'' Pomfrey said, looking toward the armored figure.

"I doubt we have time to list them all,'' the Elemental said dryly. ''He has fought in over one hundred and fifty battles in his career.''

"Career!'' the nurse screeched. ''More like massacre!''

"Civilians,'' Elayne snarled between clenched teeth. ''You insult him. He is an honored, Bloodnamed warrior. Were it not for his loathing of politics, he would be worthy to be a Khan. He has fought for his Clan, and no one may or should gainsay him.''

For her credit, Madam Pomfrey refused to back down. ''He also shouldn't be alive at this point. He has five cracked ribs, a cracked skull, a broken leg, severe magic exhaustion, internal organ damage and an entire butcher's bill of other problems. And that's just current injuries!''

"Well you can blame the Jade Falcons for that, since they were the ones who shot us down,'' Elayne replied bitterly. ''Take up with Khans Elias Crichell and Vandervahn Chistu if you wish.''

"Well, whoever they are, they're not here,'' Poppy said, glaring at the armored figure. ''My patient is. So if you would step aside, I have work to do.''


End file.
